Delivering the Ring of Truth
By Kathryn Craft | April 9, 2020 |
photo adapted / Horia Varlan
My engagement was memorable to owners of jewelry stores within a two-hour driving radius of my home. I’m no celebrity, but apparently I’m a well-recognized…type. As unforgettable as the feel of grit on sandpaper, some might say. I didn’t set out to earn a reputation. I’m simply a person who struggles to find meaning, and since there isn’t an occasion more meaningful than a wedding, I struggled a lot. In public.
Perhaps the jewelers would have been more empathetic if I’d told them the whole story—that I’d done this all before, eighteen years ago. That it hadn’t ended so well. That my new beau recognized me as a potential life partner right away through the newfound honesty with which I expressed my vision for my life—a vision that almost word-for-word echoed thoughts he had written down himself, years before. With that knowledge, certainly anyone could understand my need to find the perfect ring, right? Past childbearing age, why remarry at all unless the union adds meaning to your life?
Since the average length of each store visit was already bumping the one-hour mark, I spared jewelers the narrative and picked my way through dozens of rings that any less demanding woman, they’d quietly inform me, would be thrilled to own. Dating had offered a similar quandary—it’s hard to find the right one when you have no idea what “the right one” looks like. The ubiquitous answer: you know love when you find it.
I loved my first engagement ring, a round-cut diamond with two smaller stones on either side, and kept finding myself attracted to similar rings. But wasn’t this why I’d sought therapy after my first husband’s suicide? To break the habit of seeking out the same old relationships? I forced myself to look at styles to which I’d never before been attracted—marquis and pear cuts, unusual shapes that required a matching band, estate jewelry, different kinds of stones.
While shopping for rings that spring of 2000, one exasperated chain store owner told me to come back later—much later, in July—for his setting event, when he would have a thousand different settings to choose from. “It’s your only hope,” he’d said with a smirk. Dave and I had planned a September wedding—call me old-fashioned, but I’d been hoping to have the ring on my finger for longer than two months.
“If only you could describe the ring to me,” said another, plopping down a pile of catalogs. If only. I half-heartedly flipped through one of them. I knew one thing—I wouldn’t find it on paper.
Weeks later, I was trying even my own patience. Dave had asked me to marry him in March, and we were coming up on May. While telling those who knew my story that I’d gotten engaged, I’d been touched to see their faces light up with hope for my sons and me, but the “Let me see your ring” part was getting old. I began to see a “setting event”—or two, or three—in my future.
Dave actually loved this about me—my perseverance, my search for meaning, my recently discovered, don’t-settle-for-second-best attitude. With four children representing a range of skin colors and a divorce that had registered on the Richter scale, he knew that not all journeys followed a straight path. “You’ll find the ring you’re looking for,” he affirmed.
Note the “you’ll”—even he had dropped out of the search.
I finally stopped in to see the local jeweler from whom my first husband purchased my engagement ring. I’d hoped to avoid the location (reference breaking old patterns, above), but short of daytrips to larger cities, which my schedule would not support, my options were running out. I ordered a ring on spec—a round diamond surrounded by a gold swirl that required a matching band. It was a little different, a little artsy. Since the first ring had been bought there, he offered to give me about half of the original purchase price with a trade-in.
But I had settled, and the relief of calling off the search wasn’t enough to keep that knowledge from eating at me.
That night an acquaintance from church, also recently engaged, told me about the place where her fiancé had bought her ring—a store that had somehow ducked beneath my radar. Slapping on a smile to brighten my voice, I told her that I was done looking.
“You should try Engle Jewelers,” she said. I hadn’t heard of the place and had no intention of listening to her advice. I’d seen her ring and didn’t particularly care for it. She and I had little in common. I was on a search for meaning; she was known to be superficial and flighty.
“I just told you,” I said. “I ordered a ring today.”
There was a moment of silence. When she spoke again, I’d swear her voice had deepened.
“Go to Engle Jewelers.”
This time, as if reverberating with God’s own authority, her words begged notice. They pierced my skin and rang like a bell in my soul. By morning, I’d convinced myself that perhaps the entire reason for the unlikely merging of this woman’s path with mine had been to set up the delivery of those four words. (An effect underscored in retrospect, since her engagement soon broke off, she moved, and we lost touch.)
I was waiting at the door when the jeweler unlocked the next morning. Whether to heed a command or to rule out the only jeweler I hadn’t visited, I wasn’t sure, but I was damned curious. I scanned his display—by now, all rings were blurring into variations of the same half-dozen styles.
And then, in the back corner of the case, I recognized what I’d been looking for: a braided gold band in strands of yellow, rose, and white. A symbol of a blended family. I hadn’t seen anything else like it. The matching engagement ring had an oval cut solitaire.
Mr. Engle suggested the ring was a lifetime commitment; I shouldn’t take the decision lightly. He offered to let me borrow the wedding band for a week, wear it, make sure I liked it. At dinner that night, I showed it to Dave, explaining the meaning it held for me. When I asked him if he would wear a matching band, his answer held as much emotion as mine did when I said I’d marry him.
Dave and I went in to place our order for rings the very next day. But when we saw the cost, and I looked at Dave, my spirits sank. We couldn’t afford them. That’s when Mr. Engle said he would honor the full purchase price of my first engagement ring as a trade-in. In that moment of incredible grace, I was so shocked that I blurted the fact that the original jeweler would only give us half. He said, “That’s not ethical. Diamonds don’t lose their value.”
It was hard to part with my three-stone ring; I had loved it so. But there was meaning in that, too—offering up the best of what had come before to strengthen a new foundation.
Twenty years later, my ring still reminds me that we must take the best of the old and keep weaving it in with the new. I’m not suggesting we shouldn’t feel our hardships deeply, because it’s only through understanding our emotions that writers can use them to drive engaging stories. But if we hope to persevere in an industry that will be forever changed by the coronavirus, we must choose to see our losses as fertile, our rejections as galvanizing, and our dreams as achievable, one word at a time.
And all the while, may we all be guided by messages with the ring of truth—those we receive in life, and those we deliver in fiction.
Have you ever experienced a “voice of God” moment, where some incidental character spoke up with surprising authority, or can you think of an instance where you read such a line in a novel? Would it work to include such a moment in your current WIP? Think about how you’d build toward the line so it could deliver the intended effect without relying on italics.
As concerns weaving the best of the old in with the new, what has this time of isolation taught you that you will carry forward in your post-coronavirus writing life?
[coffee]
Kathryn Craft (she/her) is the author of two novels from Sourcebooks, The Art of Falling and The Far End of Happy. Her forthcoming book, Crafting Story Movement: Techniques to Engage Readers and Drive Your Novel Forward, draws from decades of experience as both a story consultant and a movement specialist/dance critic. Learn more on Kathryn’s website.
Hey Kathryn – You’ve got me wondering about our wedding ring story. We lived in Madison, WI when I popped the question. Beforehand, I got a recommendation for a jeweler downtown, on State Street.
When I arrived I was taken aback, and a bit apprehensive. It was sort of dark and had a real hippy vibe. (May have even smelled of patchouli.) I even tried to bolt, but the jeweler had seen and hailed me. I couldn’t be rude, right? I told him what I was about, and his enthusiasm won me over. I knew from her admiration of a friend’s ring what cut she wanted. The jeweler asked for my budget and found an unset stone in his stash (didn’t want to know what else was in there).
Here’s the weird part. He convinced me to NOT set it in a ring. I wanted to surprise her with the ring. You know, the whole cliche–nice dinner, have it brought to the table by the wait-staff, along with flowers (in hindsight, not so inventive, but it was all I could handle just taking the leap). The jeweler packaged the stone in a little gem box, sans ring, and told me to just give her that, and that he’d design the ring with her afterward (assuming she said yes). Man, was I hesitant. Right up until the moment it arrived at the table, I thought it was a shaky idea.
Turned out wonderfully. My wife LOVED the idea, right from the word “go”… er, the word “yes.” She and the hippy jeweler hit it off. All three of us loved what they came up with.
Flash forward twenty years. My wife had inherited two small stones after her mother passed. For our twentieth anniversary, we decided it would be cool to incorporate them into her wedding ring. We drove six hours to go back. Hippy jeweler was still there. A little grayer, but still creative. Sure enough, we love the new three stone setting.
So, the writerly lesson? Dunno. Sometimes you’ve got to get out of your own way? Allow the creativity of others to shine some light on your own story? Patchouli really does enhance a love story?
Really fun post, Kathryn! Thanks for getting me thinking and remembering. Happy (upcoming) anniversary!
Thanks for sharing this, Vaughn. Love it!
For a writer, it’s always true: where there’s a story, there’s a takeaway.
Today, I was thinking that gathering all WUers around a campfire for a punchy little story might be just the thing to focus attention that would much rather be pinging all over the place. Thanks for putting another log on the fire!
“Allow the creativity of others to shine some light on your own story” — love that, V.
You brought back memories, Vaughn: in 1974, halfway through grad school at UW-Madison, my now-husband of 44 years and I bought the perfect ring at a little jewelers on Main Street.
We are now on lockdown together at a retirement community – he’s a good man to share that with.
Thanks for this sweet story! We need those now, don’t we?
Thanks Carol! Wasn’t sure how much craft would sink in just now. Glad you enjoyed it.
Great story, Kathryn — it certainly reveals warmly appealing truths about you, about Dave–and about life!
Hi Thomas, From a craft perspective, I guess you just said I developed two characters and revealed something about life. Even the shortest stories have recognizable elements!
“Twenty years later, my ring still reminds me that we must take the best of the old and keep weaving it in with the new…
And all the while, may we all be guided by messages with the ring of truth—those we receive in life, and those we deliver in fiction.”
I loved your story, Kathryn. And yes to all those wonderful God-moments that I didn’t realize until much after. One of them is about St. Maximilian Kolbe, the Polish priest who gave up his life to spare another’s while at Auschwitz–I’m convinced that you don’t choose them, rather they choose to become known to you. So, I was born on his birthday, married on his feast day (day of death), and named our first-born Max, without ever knowing about him. Several months after our conversion (11 yrs ago this Easter Vigil), discovered him and I believe he’s been watching and praying over our family from before I was born.
Vaughan, I loved your story too.
Happy anniversary!
Vijaya, your story gave me tingles! Very cool to think we just might be fitting into a larger story…
Oh yes! Our stories are part of the larger story! My kids tease me because I have more friends who are dead than alive here on earth. I just tell them that I have friends in high places :) Besides they’re not dead, but very much alive.
I love that! I agree. The most painful part of my father’s death was the slow diminishing of his brilliant mind and creative talent. Once he died, his spirit came back to me in full. It was quite remarkable.
I was swept away, Kathryn, and inspired to re-write my query letter, which was, metaphorically not the right ring.
Haha wow— a completely unintended effect, but very cool! Inspiration is not always a direct line, is it? Fingers crossed for you!
Kathryn, I love your story, it held me, every word. John and I are married forever and his ring adventure included a friend of his father’s, who had a gun on the floor of his car, driving him to a jeweler who provided a magnificent diamond and setting, exactly what I wanted. When our son fell in love with Amy who we love and who is an artist, I offered that diamond and all the stones from my mother’s engagement ring, which she had given me years ago. (My mother was widowed after 9 years of marriage and never remarried.) Amy designed a ring that resembles the sun & the moon, a universe of love. Old stories can always take on a new shine. And listening to a voice that demands we a do a thing, might bring neck shivers, yet might also bring truth.
“A gun on the floor of his car”!!! Let us not forget the power of an incidental detail, either—yikes! What a generous and loving gift you gave your daughter-in-law. I’m not sure it would ever occur to me to offer a stone off my hand!
Thanks for sharing your story, Beth. Always great to connect with you.
Beautifully said, Beth.
Hi, Kathryn:
I’ve had a few Voice-of-God moments in my life, but the more interesting part of this post seems to me to be the one that addresses how we as writers have to struggle to find a way to get the reader to buy in to our imagined worlds, i.e., how to give them the “ring of truth,” which usually (but not always) relies more on authority, conveyed through a few key details or voice, than on exact verisimilitude, which even photographs can’t provide.
All of which reminds me of this quote, that I used to introduce my last novel, which featured a notorious forger:
The artist must know the manner whereby to convince others of the truthfulness of his lies. ~ Pablo Picasso
Kinda says it all, don’t it?
And what a remarkable artist to be the source of that quote! Thanks for adding it to the conversation, David. Hope you stay well.
And yes, your first paragraph contains the seeds of many possible posts!
Kathryn, I enjoyed this very much–so different from you, with an eye on a different sort of craft. I cannot recall a specific ‘voice of God’ moment, but I’m sure I’ve experienced them because I remember the feeling of being directed by something outside of myself.
Something that struck me about your post was that we may not often consider the plight of expression of our characters–if and how they might struggle to be known, seen, expressed, even exposed through their physical surroundings, including what they wear, what might be hanging on their walls or even lying on the floor of a car. Or not–how they might resist personal expression, and all the reasons they might do so. It’s another facet to character-building that we might spend some time considering.
This is what I love about the creative spirit: like blowing on the seed head of a dandelion, one little story begets dozens of new thoughts, all of them sprouting here in the fertile ground of the WU comments. Any one of the things you listed could be an amazing prompt to lead someone into deeper—and conflict-riddled—characterization. What if the man with the shotgun on the floor was a first-grade teacher—or a priest?
Kathryn, Therese, David,
I’m sitting on my screened in porch reading the post and comments and I feel a quietness (if that’s a word) come over me. Everything is still. I broke from my contemplations to thank you all for this moment. I’m thinking if my husband’s wedding band- the one he hid in our basement many years ago when we were going on vacation. Not a fan of wearing jewelry, he always kept it in a little box in his chest of drawers. Since we were going away for a few weeks, he wanted to hide it -Incase we had a burglary! What can I say, he’s a criminal attorney. So now, 40 something years later, the ring is still hidden somewhere in our basement. We just don’t know where! Doesn’t matter though. We’re still together 48 years, sans ring. Though I have mine. Will I use this in a story? Perhaps. Your post and the comments are stirring my imagination. Again, thanks for the quiet, contemplative moment.
So interesting about the missing and unnecessary ring—interesting perspective from both of you characters. Thanks for sharing, Linda.
It reminds me of another ring story. After we were married, Dave and I owned several decommissioned wedding bands—mine, my first husband’s, his first wife’s, and Dave’s first band. When gold was high, I thought I’d see what I could get for them, and put them in a bank envelope. Somehow, I could never quite bring myself to sell them.
When we were getting ready to move, I looked all over the place for them and couldn’t find them anywhere! The envelope simply vanished. Like the marriages.
Hi, Kathryn,
My all-time favorite classic is Jane Eyre, and for me, the voice of God moment is when Jane stands up before Mr. Rochester and claims her right to love. Such power in these written words:
“Do you think, because I am poor, obscure, plain, and little, I am soulless and heartless? You think wrong! — I have as much soul as you — and full as much heart! And if God had gifted me with some beauty and much wealth, I should have made it as hard for you to leave me, as it is now for me to leave you. I am not talking to you now through the medium of custom, conventionalities, nor even of mortal flesh: it is my spirit that addresses your spirit; just as if both had passed through the grave, and we stood at God’s feet, equal — as we are!”
― Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre
As to what isolation has taught me and what I’ll take into my post-coronavirus writing life — remembering. I hope to remember that time is a gift and not to squander it, but use it to write — even when I don’t feel like it –and that the resilience and strength I’ve seen in others and myself can translate to characters. All of this experience, I feel, will translate onto our future pages in some way by virtue of how we come through it. And we will.
And wonderful story, Kathryn. Loved your “ring” of truth!
Thank you for this stellar example, Marielena! Frankly, it’s one I just might print out and put on my bulletin board of inspirations.
And I love the wisdom you intend to carry forward from this unprecedented time in our lives. You’re more than a survivor—you’re a thriver.
I love this story! But I MUST SEE THIS RING. :) It sounds lovely on every level.
Thanks Tiffany! Scroll down through on my FB page at this link to see a pic:
https://www.facebook.com/kathryn.craft/posts/10219009014551045
Beautiful! Love the braid.
Thank you and oh my god I had no clue that dropping the link in would create a huge image of my hand hahahaha!! Good to know…
I loved your story and was struggling to think of a “Voice of God” moment to share. There were several that came to mind but were to complex to share in a quick comment.
But then I scrolled down and saw this picture. Simple yet intricate; a testament of Love, Life and Commitment; a bonding of the human Soul to flesh and bone.
To me this was one of the best writing prompts I have come across in quite some time which raised a question. Why can’t this be a writing prompt, not just for my own personal pleasure, but this writing community?
I loved Therese’s post a few days ago. It got followers to share including shadow-followers like myself.
A CHALLENGE!
Why not make this picture a real writing prompt on a separate post and invite readers to post something– a creative essay, a poem, a haiku or several, a poetic essay based on a haiku, or anything that helps your inner soul find peace?
Not a competition, no prizes, just writing and sharing for the fun of it, something to further bond this community during a challenging time.
A real “Dreams love feet better than knees” moment.
Thank you TR, I’m honored you see this story as such. My next date isn’t until next month, but will run your interest in a prompt past Therese. Please don’t let the delay stop you, though—if you’re inspired to write now, have at it! “Putting off inspired writing” = “letting it slip through your fingers.”
TR, I recognize that quote! <3 I will see what I can cook up in the coming weeks. Stay tuned. And thanks for the inspiration!
Have you ever experienced a “voice of God” moment, where some incidental character spoke up with surprising authority
Oh, yes. And the character, an older actor helping a younger one sort out a betrayal, provided, out of the blue, the perfect turning point in the plot.
Trust why you put characters into a story – your mind will supply the what and how at the right time.
Took my breath away. Up until that point I had no idea how I was going to manage that.
Alicia that sounds absolutely thrilling! One of those rare moments we writers live for. Thanks for sharing it!
What a lovely story Katharine. Reminded me of the power that story holds and offers us places to step in with our own. I also love the multitude of comments and your response about the dandelion blown in the wind. I’ve always used the stone thrown and the ripples that keep going, but I love this new one. May I use it?
You mention God moments – what I call moments when you know something important has happened and yet, the very attempt to describe or explain can diminish it. But you recognize it.
On a different note, I consider myself one of the odd ducks in this group since I’m writing a memoir about my days as a hospital chaplain. One of my more recent chapters? . . . I titled it, “God Moments”. I hope it holds some of that truth you’re talking about. Thanks for the post,
What a lovely story, Kathryn! Your persistence, your confidence that you would know the right ring when you saw it, and the metaphor you saw in it are all good qualities for our own demanding task as writers. And it’s a gorgeous ring!
I had one major VOG moment, one that saved me when I’d been spiraling for several years. I’ve tried to write about it over the years, but as David Corbett pointed out, it’s hard to make such a thing believable. Tough enough to persuade the reader when I knew it had really happened, I don’t think I’d use something like it in a story. Maybe something more minor, though, like those small coincidences that often occur, such as when you think you see someone in front of your car so you brake and drive more carefully and within a block someone does step out without looking.
After writing a novel based on true events, I am well aware of the pitfalls of trying to arrange a story around one big line that you are intent on delivering. But when my editor told me to remove that line, I was like, hell no. Instead, I set it up better. It took hours of last-minute effort, but for me, it was worth it.
Supporting that line will stretch every aspect of your craft, but I’d sure love for you to give it a try. If you ever do, send the essay or story or scene to me through my author site. I’d love to read it.